Thanksgiving and birthdays

So I had this plan to wax poetic about how I love thee, Thanksgiving. Only now I'm cold and damp [shower], and seriously in need of a nap. You see, I have the unenviable job of working 12-8 at work tonight. This means I'll bleed right into Black Friday, a day when I normally hide under the bed and tell the world to kindly go fuck itself. I'm all for sales. I'm all for stores making a profit. I'm all for tax free. But I'm not the person you want ringing your stuff up when the three of those things collide. I'm the person who will, sometime after the sixth annoying customer, reach out and stab you in the neck with a pen, shove you to the side, and politely chirp, "next?"

Happy birthday, cauldroness. I hope your day gets/got [curse you, time difference!] better. If not, demand a do over until the world manages to get it right. I'm not sure this has ever worked for anyone in the history of forever, but it's always worth a try.

Until you end up all Groundhog Day. Then you've gone too far.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pass out before I find myself face first in a plate of nummy, nummy food.

Oh, and my chocolate crack pie is still the yummiest thing known to mankind.